


The Sleep

by gilligankane



Category: Guiding Light
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-11
Updated: 2009-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You thought that this retreat was supposed to give you answers, but all it gives you is a glimpse in the mirror and you don’t like what you see. You hate what you see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sleep

_You dreamed me one night. Now I’m dreaming you back._

_\- pleasefindthis_

You toss and you turn but you can’t find a spot that’s comfortable in the sheets; can’t find the one spot where, if your neck isn’t twisted manically, your feet are sticking out of the end of the covers.

You haven’t slept, now, for days: just tossed and turned and twisted until you finally gave up and stared at the textured ceiling tiles, counting each drop of misplaced paint that speckled and shined in the moonlight.

You haven’t slept, now, for days, counting each mistake you’ve ever made in your life.

Gus.

Frank.

Rafe.

Olivia.

You haven’t slept, now, for days, just counting each way you’ve managed to set yourself back.

Gus.

Frank.

Rafe.

Olivia.

The air in the house is hot, but you’ve got the window propped open and it’s raining out, fogging up the glass and the mirrors, distorting the reflection you see in the mirror until you’re not actually sure who you’re seeing: if it’s really you or someone you’ve never met.

Because, it  _looks_  like you, but the eyes you’re seeing are empty and hollow and unfocused.

Because it  _looks_  like you, but the smile is faded and distant and doesn’t really sparkle.

Because it  _looks_  like you, but the voice that comes up from the throat is heavy with tears and hoarse from crying.

You thought that this retreat was supposed to give you answers, but all it gives you is a glimpse in the mirror and you don’t like what you see. You  _hate_  what you see.

The sheets are too heavy on your chest, weighing down your prayers and your thoughts until you feel like you’re sinking through the mattress. Olivia never weighed you down like this. Rafe did, when he  _shot_  Jeffery in a fit of teenage rage.  _Frank_  did, when he got down on one knee and asked you to marry him in a fit of mid-life insanity.  _Gus_  did, when he died on you in a fit of misplaced heroism. But not Olivia.

Olivia only lifted you up and let you fly on your own, using her own heaviness to send you higher.

Frank and Gus and Rafe all held you down with their problems and their expectations and their life goals but Olivia never wanted you to be anything other than yourself.

 _Olivia_  did that.

And now, stuck in this  _retreat_ , you can’t sleep, because if you do, if you close your eyes until the morning, she still won’t be there; she still won’t be waiting for a cup of coffee or your smile or to hear you say  _I love you_. She still won’t be there to tell you’re better than people think you are or that she loves you too.

Which is your fault, really.

Because you got scared.

So, scared and ashamed and confused and stressed out, you ran until you couldn’t run anymore and when you looked up, some nun with kind eyes was looking down on you and lifting you by the hands and telling you it was okay.

And you tried to tell her: nothing is okay without Olivia.

But the words caught in your throat and you were led to a room to think; to pray for guidance; to ask God for…for  _what?_

You’re not looking for forgiveness – you’re looking for sleep.

You’re not looking for answers – you’re looking for Olivia.

You’re not looking for respite from the whispers or the glances or the  _problems_  – you’re looking for your family.

Once upon a forever ago, you thought God might be able to give those things to you.

You thought – after all you’d been through – God would show a little mercy and give you those things: the rest and the love and the family. You though that you at least deserved that much.

He gave it to you; you just weren’t paying attention.

Because he wrapped his gift in the form of a woman more broken and sheltered and cautious than you could ever imagine; he wrapped his gift in designer suits and shoes and gave it an attitude no one could imagine; he wrapped his gift in the body of Olivia Spencer like some kind of joke and since you weren’t looking for it – since you weren’t looking for  _her_  – you missed it the first time around.

You won’t miss it again – you’ve figured out  _that_  much while you don’t sleep.

You turn again, ending up on your stomach with your face pressed into the cool pillow and you blow into the fabric hard, screaming into the navy material all the things you didn’t say before you left; before you ran, like a  _coward_.

And you don’t sleep; you haven’t slept, now, for days, counting all the things you wish you could fix.

Gus.

Frank.

Rafe.

Olivia.

But really just Olivia; really, you only want to fix the mistakes you’ve made with Olivia, because Gus is dead and you can’t change that, because Frank will find someone who doesn’t call him a  _good man_  like they have a bad taste in their mouth, because Rafe is so insistent that he’s a man now and men should strike out on their own, without their mommies coming to rescue them.

So, really, you only wish you could fix Olivia, because she’s broken and it’s your fault and you’ve got the glue you just don’t have the courage.

She’s the Tin Man and you’re the Cowardly Lion and maybe that’s why they were such good friends, because they both lacked the same thing in the end.

The both lacked the other.

You know, somehow, that Olivia’s done this: this not-sleeping thing, mulling over every conversation and every touch and every unspoken word. She’s probably done this before and now here you are, doing it too but the only difference is that she won’t be there in the morning the way you were.

You sigh again and turn over, but it doesn’t help.

She still won’t be there when the sun comes.


End file.
